


Wizard's Note

by AlwaysPotter



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror OFC, Aurors, But He Prefers Logic, Draco Malfoy is a Good Friend, F/M, Hermione Granger is Anxious, Investigations, L Has Feelings (Death Note), L has secrets, Nightmares, OFC has secrets, OFC is Good at Being an Auror, OFC is Not So Good at Feelings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnant Ginny Still Kicks Asses, The Insomniac Club, Watari Plays Matchmaker, Watari Ships Them, What am I doing, translation by me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysPotter/pseuds/AlwaysPotter
Summary: When Ryuk drops his notebook on Earth, humanity's only hope is the world's first detective. . . and a not-so-chosen team of Aurors."No, wait, let me get this straight. You've spent the last twenty years pretending you don't exist, there are people seriously convinced you're a vampire, and I've seen Robards on the verge of tears because you refused to appear before the Wizengamot fourteen times. Now you're making threats on live television, having five o'clock tea with six Aurors and you want to introduce yourself to the first suspect? What's next? Invite Kira to take part in the investigation and become best friends?!""Well, roughly. . . yes, that would be the long-term plan. Sharp as ever."The witch, astonished, toyed with the idea of planting something very sharp in the detective's skull. Like a kitchen knife.Or a katana.It would have been pretty scenic.A detective of undefeated genius.An Auror of exceptional abilities.An endless amount of lies.The Wizarding World needs saving again.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, L (Death Note)/Original Female Character(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> LUMOS  
> Dear fearless readers, I am pleased to introduce you to my total madness.  
> I’ll start saying that I am not a native English speaker, and that this is also an exercise for me, so it's highly recommended for you to point out any oversights/errors/imprecisions, I'd really appreciate it :3 Obv, where my competences won’t be enough, I’ll use a translator, just to be honest.  
> Now, given how long it takes me to translate, and especially given the fact that I'm still publishing/writing this story in Italian, I might be a little slow to update, but I'll try to keep a minimum pace!  
> Thank you very much people,  
> Good luck ;3  
> NOX

**Prologue**

_14 December 2003_

At the end of the year, the frost on an inclement December penetrated coats, scarves, gloves and hats as it they were tissue paper, up to the bones. Nothing abnormal, no Dementors freezing the water in the puddles and the blood in the veins, simply a harsh London winter.

There was no shortage of wind either, even if it wasn’t the helpful breath of the wind of change but rather the piercing lash that heralds snow. By a fortuitus coincidence, it was a Sunday that had welcomed that vigour, giving peace to the capital’s frantic inhabitants: even the most devout at Sunday mass were still barricaded in their homes, cramped between a few blankets and a cup of tea. From the glittering windows of the City to the last offshoot of the resident district, the stillness made the streets surreal, almost desolate, as a chill ran through the bare branches.

It was in a not too shabby corner of the East End, in one of those suburbs of particularly deep silence, that a girl was leaving her house. A long midnight-blue cloak was laced underneath her slender neck, then dropped down to skim a sturdy lather boots. A curtain of dark red hair escaped from the wide hood, messy waves slipping in her eyes while she noisily fumbled with the doorway. Too loudly, according to the sharp knocks her neighbour gave to the window above her.

The young woman jumped with an imprecation as her keys slipped from her fingers, bruised with cold. Her hazel eyes snapped upward, and she smiled rather unconvincingly to the woman, not looking away as she ducked to retrieve her keys.

Just as the haughty lady was about to retreat, however, a sharp trill pierced the air. A defeated look was painted on her pale face as she quickly pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

“Hello? Yes, just a- wait a minute, I think the old harpy is going to throw me another bucket of water” she whispered annoyed, holding on to the frozen handrail to walk down the steps in front of the door.

“Seriously, I’ll end up killing her! I’m going to be the Auror who kills old Muggles” she jumped on the pavement, safe and sound, accompanied by the looming, sullen gaze of the Doyle widow. Straining not to cast a glare – or a spell – at her, she set off down the ice-covered street. “I could even steal the front page from the “serial killer of criminals” for a couple of days, before Robards kills me and takes my place… What? _Harry has already left?_ Merlin, it’s just six o’clock… No, I’m coming straight from the Azkaban shift, but I think Robards has returned earlier from the whole Interpol thing… Big deal! Erasing a few memories here and there while I drag myself through that crap… I don’t know, it could be sorted out pretty quickly now that _he_ has joined the investigation”. The girl hurried her pace, having come to a particularly narrow alleyway.

“Alright Ginny, I’ll tell her, I’ll leave you know… I have to get the chimney hooked up to the Floo Network, I know… _Yes_ , I also should get the doorway fixed… Okay, big hug, bye.”

A displeased snort left the girl’s lips as she made her way between a crumbling wall and a dumpster that looked like it had never be emptied. She struggled to void uninviting puddles and trash, stretching her legs wrapped in jeans studded with rips that had little to do with style and more with the threat on unravelling at any moment.

At first glance, that girl stood out enormously in a filthy alley. Not that it was hard, to stood out in a filthy alley, but she was _particularly_ good at it. It was probably the hood that, slipping down her back, had exposed her fresh face, with freckles along her slightly potato nose, her full cheeks and even her pouted lips. It was probably her hair, long and allowed to run absent-mindedly for its own sake past her slender shoulders. It was probably also something in her amber eyes, focused on some thought light years away.

It was probably everything that screamed that she was just a girl in her early twenties. An ordinary college girl, her neighbours would have called her, not particularly noteworthy, sharing a tiny apartment with an owl. Sure, the owl still raised quite a few eyebrows in her disastrous palace, but one got used to it. After all, the members of the Magical Community were very good at getting Muggles used to their little anomalies, more so the Aurors. And yes, she was a twenty-something who shared a tiny apartment with an owl, but she also was one of the Ministry of Magic’s top dark-wizard hunters.

She had been an Auror for five years now, and she loved her routine. She loved her job, and the fact that her co-workers were her friends and family. She loved juggling frantically and constantly between errands, some quidditch practice, and the long hours of the Ministry; it gave her the feeling that she was doing something worthwhile with her life, which was more than she would have once expected. She even found herself appreciating her modest one-room apartment, because she could sneak up to the roof of the building and read from time to time… and, sooner or later, the widow Doyle would decide to kick the bucket: _that_ was some serious square footage.

After all, she had nothing to complain about.

That's why she felt guilty. For neither the unexpected summons to the Ministry, nor her recent stay on a rocky outcrop lost in the North Sea, was the reason why her brow was so furrowed, her sighs so deep, her gaze so annoyed. The real problem was how everything, for months, seemed to weigh too much on her: it was that inexplicable dissatisfaction, that unmotivated snort every now and then, that feeling of being locked into a life that was already over.

At twenty-two and with a war behind her, however, stability shouldn't have been so hard on her. Her eyes, almost yellow in the half-light of the alley, peered thoughtfully at the sky crossed by immense grey clouds, trying for the thousandth time to chase away that deep sense of… boredom.

 _“This can't be all my life… can it?”_ she thought, before turning on herself and disappearing with a snap.

On the other side of the world, in the penthouse suite of a very luxurious hotel, total darkness reigned.

The expansive windows and beautiful views had been covered by heavy velvet curtains, the expensive lamps with elaborate lampshades turned off, the phones scattered throughout the various rooms disconnected.

Only a small rectangle of light shone in the darkness, spreading a halo of blue light in a radius of a few meters, illuminating the modern parallelepiped of a computer, a webcam off and a microphone, all connected to a coil of cables that crawled on the precious parquet floor until they were lost in the dark.

In that absolute nothingness, sitting in front of the monitor, was a man. The semi-darkness made it difficult to determine his age, and his dry body was bundled up in a loose white T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Suddenly, the man leaned forward toward the microphone. He removed a thin white hand from his knee and pressed a button on the device, on which a red light shone; the blue light now grazed part of his face, making his skin even more waxy and ghostly, in sharp contrast to a few thick strands of black hair.

“Watari” the voice was hoarse after hours spent in silence.

A black ‘W’ suddenly stood out on the white screen, and a totally distorted voice answered, “ ** _I'm here_** ”

“Did you provide the MACUSA?”

“Yes, I have already communicated our demands, they will leave within the next four days.”

“… Then call the Ministry. She must come as soon as possible.”

“I'll take care of it right away.” Metallic or not, that voice carried not the slightest sign of hesitation. No indecision as he placidly prepared to _take care_ of the two most important and powerful Magic Governments in the world. Besides, it was not an unusual affair to appear on the international scene and immediately get the most complete and respectful attention, not for Watari. Not for the middleman of the world's number one detective. . . magical and otherwise.

The connection closed, leaving the man watching his reflex in the black screen. He ran a thumb over his thin lips, thoughtful. He hadn't expected it to happen so soon, but he couldn't complain.

The tedious indifference that seemed to grow more and more intense, year by year, that seemed to devour him from within and drown him like a tide, now seemed already a distant memory. His mind was frantically and thirstily grinding out the next moves, the pieces of a chess game that had been prepared and coveted for a very long time. A game he would have won, just like all the others.

Boredom had been washed away, as if by magic.


	2. On the right way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lumos  
> Ok I'm so so sorry, I'm slow af I know, and I got completely overwhelmed with studying and writing the original version of the ff, BUT I'll try to set up some sort of a schedule for the translation too. I hope I haven't left any mistakes, but if I did feel totally free to point them out!  
> Grazie mille, a big big hug ;3  
> Nox

##  Chapter 1

### On the right way

_Still 14 December 2003._

Ironically, the operation went well.

Sure, that morning had not start off the best: having arrived at the Ministry with the Sunday morning heavy on their eyes and the shuffling pace of those who march towards the inevitable, they were all quite convinced that they had forgotten a meeting with the legal department. And it was common knowledge how _useless_ the meetings with the legal department were.

Ten minutes later, though, ten minutes of coffee and cursing and coffee again, they were literally _flying off_ in assault uniforms.

Still, _it went well._

“Potter I will KILL YOU!”

“Good luck with that”

“I survived far worse than your STUPID FERRET FACE!”

“You have twenty-three years…”

The key to the case were two informants they had brought on their side, securing valuable clues as on where their target was hiding: the Crow had no way out. No, sir, just a few more days and they would have finally caught him.

Because, that was crucial, the Crow wasn’t going to move for another two weeks.

That’s what the informants had said.

… Clearly, there must have been a misunderstanding, as the Crow had tried to get on a plane from Heathrow.

“Step aside Sophie, I’m going to beat the crap out of him!”

“No, Ron, please, do not-”

 _“Expelliarmus!_ ”

However, that didn’t stop them, and they were honestly magistral: the support teams burst into _applause_ when they had immobilized the target, well-hidden to Muggle eyes in an abandoned hangar. Even the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and the Obliviators had complimented them, and it wasn’t a something that happened often.

“Confrigo!”

“Incendio!”

“Impedimenta”

It went well, so well they offered everyone a round of beer. Then a second, and a third, and for the fourth one there was half the Department pressed between the tables of their favourite pub.

After all, that morning had been the culmination of almost two months of investigation, and a proper _masterpiece_ of investigation.

“Levicorpus!”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

“Protego!”

Her partners were indeed very good investigators, first-class Aurors, people she entrusted with her life every day, with pride. She was proud of them, proud of their skills, their wit, their courage and their… professionalism.

“Idiot”

“ _Arsehole_ ”

“ _Fuck off!_ ”

Well, not in _that_ specific moment.

As the Auror Headquarters was torn to pieces for the third time in five years, Sophie Winchester was leaning against a wall with her arms folded, looking at the scene with a bored expression.

There was nothing new, moreover, in the way they were systematically destroying her desk. Even the round of betting between the Department colleagues, who were intent on exchanging handfuls of magic coins, was now a well-tried win-lose system.

Besides, she was too tired to get angry.

“I’ll take that finger OFF!”

“Take off this from your FACE!”

It was when she had to dodge her favourite mug, skyrocketing to certain death, that she decided to intervene. Her eyes thinned on the pulverized ceramic, she pulled out her wand in a lightning motion, pointing it towards her partners.

 _“IMMOBILUS!”_ she thundered peremptory and, for a long, incredible minute, an unnatural silence fell among the disrupted cubicles: a cloud of wood splinters, crumbled plasterboard, colliding flying memorandums and burned carpet, her colleagues were reduced to wax statues.

«I’m not saying you can’t fight, ok?» said the girl, manoeuvring among the debris of the Auror offices. «I know that it’s a miracle this team is still standing, given the history, but _could you not?!_ Then where do I take you now? Hermione will kill you, Kingsley will kill you, the Chief kill you, even Dumbledore would be tempted to finish his dear little ex-students, trust me! _Wingardium Leviosa!»_ Three paralized bodies rose from the oveturned deskes they were sheltering behind, “… like _children_ playing snowballs! Oh, if the other don’t kill you I’ll do it, it might be worth a promotion!” The glaring stares of the boys who could barely move, didn’t touch her in the slightest.

She’d take them to a quiet place, like the clogged toilet on the fourth level, and along the way she’d make sure they hit every door, edge and piece of furniture available. _Then_ she’d come back to fix everything.

Thanks to Godric, the Chief was the only one to own a proper office, complete of door, walls and soundproofing: maybe, with a bit of luck, he wouldn’t have noticed the mess.

“No, not _again!_ ”

… Emphasis on _maybe._

“Potter, Weasley, Malfoy and, yes, you too, Winchester, OFFICE! _Right away!_ ”

The only door of the Headquarters slammed shut, while the redhead girl dropped the three Aurors to the ground, free again.

“It’s all your fault, Potter! Just because you can’t admit that my strategy has _actually_ been more successful than yours would have been… well, event if it took little” sneered sarcastically Draco Malfoy, raising his grey eyes to the sky with an air of superiority.

“Fuck you, Malfoy” Ron Weasley replied with legendary finesse, middle finger to top it off.

“If Sophie hadn’t stopped us we would have ripped you to shreds, so shut up Malferret,” hissed _the_ Harry Potter, intent on repairing a par of shabby round glasses.

“Oh, but do me the favor! Don’t-”

“ _Start again!_ ” Sophie whined. “I’m going to spend my Sunday gluing bits of desk together, thanks to you”

“Technically, thanks to-”

“Hermione will _kill_ you” the redhead realised, looking at Draco vindictively.

He stubbornly pretended not to hear her, but put two fingers in the collar of his jacket. “If we are to be precise, it’s Robards’ fault”

“Oh, sorry, you want to duel with him too?”

“Malfoy has point”, Ron grumbled, pulling wooden shards from his uniform. “We should be celebrating or, I don’t know, on _vacation,_ right now.”

“You finally said something clever, Weasley, congratulations.”

“Oh _now_ you agree…”

“Mates, at this point we don’t have that much of a choice” Harry sighed, standing up and ignoring Draco’s whining when he stepped on the blond’s cloak in the process.

The team stared desolated at the door, whose thick amber glass bore the simple inscription: “Chief - Auror Gawain Robards”.

“A-again?” The four turned to a colleague, who was looking afflictedly at some small potted plants lying, wretched but alive, among the remains of a desk.

“Uhm, yeah… sorry Neville,” Harry mumbled, embarrassed.

Sophie, on the other hand, smiled amiably. “Yeah, excuse them and _pay off_.”

Neville merely shrugged and dropped a couple of Sickles into the witch’s palm, also staring at the fateful door. “You _do_ know that waiting out here is like leaving a Shriletter on the table, right?”

“Longbottom, you _do_ know I don’t give an absolute s-”

“You’re right”, Harry said, lapidary, while Sophie quieted the blond with a nudge. “Come on, guys…”

“Merlin’s pants, even at Hogwarts we’ve ended up in front of Dumbledore so many times”, Ron said, passing a hand through his red hair.

And that said it all.

“Can you stay a minute, what am I saying, a _second,_ without demolishing the Ministry?! Is it too much to ask? Just say the word, I’ll ship you off to the Auror Academy and be done with it!”

“Oh, come on, I told you from the get-go that I didn’t want to be their partner, that it was a bad idea, but you, no, you got _fixated!_!

“Shut the hell up Malfoy” Harry whispered through his teeth, seeing the vein on the Chief’s heigh forehead pulsing in a dangerously familiar way. Usually, at that point, his uncle Vernon would put bars on his window.

Gawain Robards, however, was a patient person, a veteran Auror who had seen the history of the Department: he was a newbie during the first Death Eaters attacks, he grew up under Rufus Scringemour wing, he succeeded him when he became Minister, and he had resisted under Voldemort’s tyranny. After the Battle of Hogwarts and the election of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, he offered all the survived students a place ad Headquarters, while a most of the old guard went on trial.

The Auror Academy, finally, was back on track, selecting and expertly training the new élite of dark wizards hunters. The system had been renewed and shaken to the ground.

Now Robards just had to retire, leaving the reins to the youngest and most promising Auror ever seen: Harry James Potter.

The Saviour of Wizarding World.

He Who Defeated Voldemort.

The 23-year-old throwing curses at his colleagues from behind a desk.

“Listen to me you bunch of kids, id you haven’t figured it out yet there’s more important business to be done than settling your fifteen year old arguments, I’ve had it up to here! If you don’t finish it today, you can turn in your pin!” The three of them paled, not daring to say another word.

Sophie Winchester, on the other hand, couldn’t help noticing that the man seemed to be quite nervous… that is, _more_ so than the last time his HQ had been reduced to smoking wreckage.

She cleared her throat, hesitantly. “Uhm, Sir, I don’t want to divert the conversation but… why were we called here? The owl said it was an urgent matter, and were at the pub... not that it’s a problem, clearly!”.

Robards looked at her, and on his forehead there was a deep wrinkle, dug between the bushy eyebrows. His light blue eyes were framed by a thin metal frame that moved every time the Auror was frowning, which was _very_ often. The girl watched him take off his glasses and start cleaning them in his jacket, looking down.

“You boys, get over there and wait. I need to talk to Winchester first. And don’t let it happen ever again, I ask you, please, and for the last time”, he said. The three left unwillingly, making inquisitorial glances at the girl, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Guv, if this is about the Azkaban shifts I’ve just been there and, frankly, that place still seems haunted but the Dementors”, Sophie immediately clarified, scrunching her nose.

“No, it’s not that… in fact, right now it would be Malfoy’s turn,” Robards mumbled in response, thinning his wrinkled eyes dangerously.

“However, you’ll be well aware of the situation the Department… and the whole justice world, is in”.

Sophie nodded, her face alight with interest. “Of course, Guv, I know everything on the Kira Case… or, at least, everything that’s been disclosed.”

“Very well, and you’ll be aware that, with our resources, we’re already stretched to the limit between the routine cases and this disaster,” the wizard said with a grimace, not knowing what else to call that unexplained phenomenon for which, suddenly, hundreds, thousands of criminals had begun to die. It started without explanation, both on the streets and behind bars, all over the world: as at the hands of an Avada Kedavra, people just kept dropping dead with a bright green flash.

The victims were equally magical and Muggle, and this led the International Confederation of Wizards to take over the hunt for the assassin, certainly a wizard. With all their good will, however, they had done nothing but manipulate Muggles out of their utterly confused way.

That, of course, until a few weeks earlier, when the Confederation had agreed to hand over the case to _L._

L was a name and nothing more, without face and without identity, no one even knew if he was a wizards or a Muggle, a person or an organization. What was known was that no one, _no one in the world_ could match his investigative skills: it didn’t matter what case was entrusted to him, how long and with how much despair other people had already worked on it, whether it was of magical nature or else, of international importance or the interest of some old country noblewoman, L would solve it.

It was a legend, almost a whispered entity, a doubt and a fable for budding detectives.

And it was absolutely, invariably _a_ _last resort_.

Yes, because L didn’t answer to anyone but chance. There was no government that has ever obtained his appearance or an iota more information about him and, if anyone did, they would never tell. Just as anyone who had ever tried to pass themselves off as L now spent the rest of their existence in anonymous, vaguely terrified days in the most remote provinces of earth.

L represented a certainty but also a huge compromise, which few people were willing to make.

The Kira case, though, was definitely one of them.

Since L had taken over the investigation, it had been quickly focused in Japan and, through some clever ploy, the circle had already been narrowed to Kanto. Not that the headquarters for the Kira investigation had been established in Tokyo, however, very little information filtered out to the rest of the world. The one thing that was easily deducible from the few data, at least for Sophie, was the centrality of the victims’ identities: the names and photos of each one had already been reported in some newspaper or media outlet, while high-calibre criminals whose identities were wholly or partially unknown were safe from the serial killer.

“Now, Sophie, it’s not a secret that our country and the USA have the highest rates of casualties,” explained Robards, waiting for the witch to nod briefly. “Well, because of this sad record, L has asked us for reinforcements, and the Yankees have already enlisted a dozen experienced Auror to send to the field.”

The wizards stopped to take a pipe out of his pocket, igniting it with a few sparkles of his wans. Then he began to rummage through the piles of scrolls that crowded the mahogany desk. Sophie, who had been silent the whole time, couldn’t hope that the Chief was asking her to…

She tried to contain the excitement, while Robards tool out five files and placed them on the rest of the chaos. He did not speak immediately, however: he seemed reluctant, drumming his fingers on the desk and pulling nervously from the pipe.

“Guv?” Sophie pressed him, her heart drumming in her chest.

“… I received an owl from Tokyo this morning. L asks for experts in Concealment and Disguise, as well as Stealth and Tracking, obviously from the top teams.” Robards cleared his throat dryly, then pointed to the files with his pipe. “Five agents, the only five I can afford to deploy too much fuss, While you and the boys were out in the field today, I collected four rejections. That leaves you”.

Sophie was shocked. She understood correctly, it _was happening_ , Gawain was offering her the chance to work with _L!_ She felt numb as she stared at the files with her mouth slightly open.

“Look, Winchester, you don’t have any…”

“I accept,” the retort was lighting fast, Sophie’s yellow eyes firmly planted in those of her superior. The Chief was silent, and for a long time. Another pause that seemed never-ending, like waiting for the flash of lightning after the rumble of a thunder.

“Very well, you have a Portkey at seven.”

***

When she’d accepted, it had felt like breathing again. It felt like she was alive again all at once, while the excitement started to flow through her veins.

She wasn’t totally sure of being lucid, but she felt more in control of her actions than she had every day for the last few years. She was in a bubble of frenzy, as she rushed out of the Ministry, dismissing Harry, Ron and Draco; she was still in a bubble of frenzy as she slammed the front door, not hearing the complains of Widow Doyle; she was so much in her bubble that she didn’t know what time it was when, having emptied every drawer, door and cupboard in the house, she had quickly hoarded what she would need for-

 _For how long?_ How long would she have been gone? How long would the investigation go on in Japan? How long after they’d let her go? Who knows how many things she couldn’t get there, who knows how complicated it was to sent owls there, who knows…

It was in the midst of those decisions that the house bell rang. The girl recovered, finding herself kneeling on the floor in front of a pile of books and leather notebooks. The painful gurgling of an empty stomach reached her immediately after the knee-pang, as she stood up to open the door. 

“I don’t think they sell it in Japan, so don’t take the risk.” Stopping on her landing, Ginny Weasley was handing her a huge box of grounded coffee, wrapped in a set of knitted cap, scarf and gloves. Sophie blunted her eyelids, then embraced her friend with enthusiasm.

Suddenly, she seemed to realise what was really going on: she was about to leave for Tokyo and join one of the most dangerous investigations of recent years, perhaps the most dangerous undertaking since the Battle of Hogwarts. No one knew how this serial killer killed, no one understood what made thousands of wizards and Muggles all over the world drop dead like puppets whose strings had been cut. No one knew how to stop him.

If she had died during that operation, on the front line, it wouldn't have been too surprising. She squeezed her friend tighter, who coughed out a laugh. "Okay, okay, just let me come in and make me some tea."

"You'll have to help me with my bags later though," Sophie bargained, letting her friend into the house. "How are the others taking it?"

"They're not exactly crazy with joy, seeing also that you left them at the Ministry without explanation, and they're obviously worried but... they understand. Or they'll understand, at least," Ginny replied, hunching her shoulders as she slipped off her jacket and left it on the back of a chair.

"Hermione? She's upset, isn't she?"

"Maybe a little bit, but basically she swooped down to Diagon Alley to go buy you Merlin only knows what, and dragging Malfoy along... there, Malfoy, he's angry, sulking worse than a child."

Sophie dismissed it with a smile and a wave of her hand: Draco and his sulking were the most predictable of reactions, but she knew that attitude concealed genuine concern. As difficult a person as he sometimes turned out to be, he was his best friend not for nothing.

"... And you?" she finally asked in a hesitant voice. In truth, years of friendship with the redhead had taught her that she would always, sincerely support her, no matter really if and how much she agreed with her choices. That was why she needed confirmation now more than ever.

Ginny, not to contradict herself, shot her a dirty look, that reproachful one that made her look all her mother. "Winchester, make that tea, go!" she intimated, setting about folding some clothes stacked on the only table in the house.

Once she was reassured that her friends weren't planning to Petrify her and hide her in the wardrobe, the witch felt lighter, tinkering with the small kitchen adjacent to the living room as Ginny began to tell her about her latest workouts with the Holyhead Harpies.

Her friends, they were all she cared about, they were all she would leave at home.

She hadn't had a family, a real one, since she was fifteen, and she hadn't been back to the house she'd grown up in since then.

But she had Ginny, her best friend, a roommate first and a sister later. She had Draco, she had Harry, Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, the department... she had a family and she would go back to them, yes, but only after she'd solved the Kira case. She owed it to her own work, to the Chief who had put his faith in her, and to herself, to that new vitality that quivered down her spine, to that feeling of being on the right way.

They didn't talk about the case for at least two hours as they sipped cup after cup of tea and stuffed Sophie's possessions into a tiny backpack, the amount of which drastically betrayed its magical properties. As the flat emptied, however, the voluminous file that sat on the table seemed to become more and more unwieldy.

When Sophie met her friend's gaze for the umpteenth time, which had been on the packet until a moment before, the chatter seemed to end. She slipped the packet into her backpack, and the scarlet letters on the cover seemed to glow with their own light: "KIRA".

The Auror took a deep breath, mussing back her mahogany hair.

"All right, it's time."

The two of them took one last look around the flat, making sure they weren't forgetting anything, then headed out.

Sophie, her backpack over her shoulder and her midnight blue hood pulled back over her freckled forehead, didn't even take a last look at the place she'd lived in for seven years before she locked the door.

Of course, when she arrived at the Ministry, it wasn't just Robards and a rusty, broken compass waiting for her.

Harry and Ron had recommended that she return for the Ministry's Quidditch tournament and she should definitely remember to buy Toyohashi Tengu T-shirts. Hermione had snatched her backpack out of her hand without a word and started filling it with books, potions and hand-knitted sweaters, only to burst into tears: the sweaters were all lumpy and she really didn't know how to apologize, and Sophie rushed to hug and reassure her. Ginny, strangely enough, had been moved too, despite the fact that her friend was sure she'd seen her cry maybe a handful of times in twelve years. Draco... well, Draco had remained rigid, frowning and arm-in-arm as she hugged him, but it didn't escape her notice when the wizard pulled up with his nose a couple of times.

With only a few minutes left until the X-hour, Sophie had turned to the compass, now illuminated by a bluish light. As she held out her fingers to the Portkey, she cast a last glance at her friends, at her life.

Robards looked at her strangely, guiltily. Sophie would have liked to reassure him, to tell him that she was fully aware of what she was up against, and that she would not be taken down by the first Dark Wizard who passed on the street, but there were only seconds left. She hoped the Chief could tell by the smile she gave, a moment before the familiar tug at her navel lifted her from where she was.

As Sophie disappeared in a strobe vortex, she could have sworn Robards whispered something to her.

***

_15 December 2003_

The Portkey had taken her to a secluded, dark alley where the city, deep in the night as it was, would hardly notice her.

She took a deep breath, leaning against the concrete wall as she recovered from the abrupt journey, the change in light, the different smell in the Tokyo air. Her senses alert, she scanned the dead end: she touched the wood in her left sleeve, to perform a _Homenum Revelio_.

She frowned and, wasting no time, drew her wand and raised it.

"L will be pleased, you have excellent timing," complimented a voice with a thick, refined English accent. A Spell of Disillusionment dissolved, revealing a tall man concealed by a dark trench coat, a pair of sunglasses, a hat and gloves.

Sophie arched an eyebrow, holding back a laugh at the eccentric outfit.

"The Montrose Magpies are killing it, I think they're going to win the Championship this time," the witch threw in, without unsheathing her wand.

"Personally, I think this is the year of the Caerphilly Catapults. Now, if you'd like to follow me, we'll head straight to Headquarters."

Sophie smiled nervously, approaching the man who was offering her an arm.

Moments later, the two of them Apparated in what looked like the corridor of a luxury hotel, with clean-smelling ivory carpeting and exquisite wallpaper lining the room, lit at regular intervals by delicate crystal lamps. Sophie, vaguely queasy after the Apparition, admired the choice of HQ: a hotel not only guaranteed discretion and anonymity, but could be vacated very quickly, did not require ministerial cooperation... and besides, who didn't like room service?

The young woman cleared her throat. "I don't mean to sound impertinent, but... it was just a randomly chosen password, wasn't it?"

Her companion chuckled as he motioned for her to precede him through the double doors of a suite. "Actually, I'm a really fond Caerphilly Catapults fan."

Sophie stepped into a spacious, breathtakingly modern anteroom. Nevertheless, she pulled off her cloak with an unconvinced grimace. "You do know they've won the championship even fewer times than the Chudley Cannons, yes?" she asked, turning around: beside the entrance, an elderly man of about seventy dressed in a smart suit was waiting for her, his wrinkled face adorned with a neat moustache and small, clear eyes topped with rectangular glasses.

"I'm afraid I'm a terrible nostalgic, miss. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Watari."

Surprised, Sophie smiled and shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm not quite sure what name I should use, though."

Watari smiled. "Don't worry, L will tell you everything. He's waiting for you through that door, where the living room is. Over there is the dining room, and over there your bedroom and personal bathroom await you. If you need me instead..."

 _Wait wait wait, L is waiting for me IN THE LIVING ROOM?_ , Sophie thought, stunned, as she followed the wizard... The wizard who was giving her directions to her room. Hers. Sophie's. As if she had to sleep there.

 _Ridiculous_.

“Wait a minute, Watari, you... you said _L,_ I... I thought I would be working on my own, that at most I would be collaborating with my colleagues, not directly with _him_! Besides, I don't understand, I didn't think I’d reside _directly_ in HQ," she babbled, flustered, almost choking on her attempt to pull off her scarf.

"Oh, no, not in your case. L will tell you everything" the man repeated, opening the door again before she had time to add anything else.

Not that the girl knew what to say. She was totally bewildered, with her heart in her throat and her stomach in complete turmoil, between magic trips and that unbearable tension.

_Okay, this is a joke. Clearly. Behind that door there is Robards with all the others ready to laugh at me._

Beyond the threshold, though, no one she knew was waiting. The living room was enormous, with one wall entirely taken up by large windows and long curtains of dark velvet, but with a golden sheen; a circle of sofas and small tables was set on a thick champagne-coloured carpet, and an elegant jumble of flowerpots, chandeliers, desks and expensive-looking knick-knacks covered every available surface.

No sooner had she set foot in the room than Watari had disappeared, leaving her alone and vaguely disoriented.

_Damn it, Watari._

"Come forward."

The voice came from the high back of an armchair facing the windows. A deep, slightly hoarse voice that sent a slight shiver down her spine.

Sophie made the most imperturbable expression possible, then stepped forward and walked around the armchair, from which what must have been...


End file.
